What once ensured that I sat at a table next to the teacher is now posted, Monday through Friday.

I've contributed to perhaps the best humor compilation I've ever read. Available now on Amazon!

My second chapbook, "The Second Book of Pearl: The Cats" is now available as either a paper chapbook or as a downloadable item. See below for the Pay Pal link or click on its cover just to the right of the newest blog post to download to your Kindle, iPad, or Nook. Just $3.99 for inspired tales of gin, gambling addiction and inter-feline betrayal.

My first chapbook, I Was Raised to be A Lert is in its third printing and is available both via the PayPal link below and on smashwords! Order one? Download one? It's all for you, baby!

Tuesday, September 23, 2014

Heeeere Kitty, Kitty, Kitty, Kitty

I will be writing a bit on Liza Bean Bitey tonight, and it occurred to me that because it's been a while, and because there are new readers, the cat may be unknown to some.

For your reading pleasure: Liza Bean Bitey, The Beginning...

People say to me, Pearl,
they say, you're not really what I think
of when I think of people who talk about their cats. You don’t have anything
cat related on the walls, you don’t have any items of clothing with pictures of
cats on them, you don’t dress said cats...

That's not true, I say. I dress them.

Just not against their will.

Several years ago, my mother had called to say that she had the perfect cat for
me.

I pointed out to her that I didn’t need a cat.

“You don’t need a cat, you need this
cat,” she said.

And two weeks later, there she was: Miss
Personality, a 12-week-old bundle of tiger-striped love. “Me! Me!” she said.

Liza Bean Bitey is an attractive cat; a tidy, small-pawed cat; one of those tail-held-high,
mischievous, string-chasing, straw-fetching, lap-invading cats that makes you
think, Hey, I should get a cat.

It would not be revealed for quite some time that her "kittenhood"
was a ruse, that Miz Liza Bean Bitey, of the Minneapolis Biteys, was a master
of disguises. Fluent in several languages, wanted on espionage charges in Bulgaria,
an in-demand studio musician, and one-time possessor of a piece of the True
Cross, Liza Bean had us fooled.

In other words, for a year, all was well.

And that was when we decided that Liza Bean Bitey needed a companion.

Dolly G. Squeakers (aka Salvatore Dolly, aka Here-Kitty-Kitty-Kitty, aka
No-Kitty-No!!) had been at the Humane Society for less than four days. A
gorgeous, long-haired, Siamese mix, she appeared to be about the same age as
Liza Bean.

“We don’t know much about her, of course,” the woman at “check-out” told us.
“It does appear that she’s got a touch of gingivitis going on...”

Say no more, my good woman. What’s a little gum inflammation between friends?

In the beginning, we kept the two apart; and in that time Dolly put on quite a
bit of weight, although how she did it with four teeth is a mystery. While
there is nothing inherently funny about gingivitis – and I think my dentist
will back me on this – there is something very funny about watching a cat pick
out one piece of kibble at a time and chew it thoughtfully on the side of her
mouth with the most teeth.

Her lack of teeth was also evident when she spoke. Dolly had been through a lot,
apparently, and had plenty to say about it. She meowed in a questioning tone
often, her brilliantly blue and slightly crossed eyes trained on your face, her
little black lips coming apart to reveal pink gums, a tooth here and there.

And so when the day finally came to introduce the two cats, we were shocked
that the “playfulness” exhibited by their reaching under doors to paw at each
other turned out actually to be a testing, on their parts, for weaknesses.

Their intent, upon first meeting? Murder.

Over the next couple weeks, Willie and I kept them apart during work hours,
determined that their reunions would be under careful supervision; and while
there were no further “incidents” of a violent-kitty nature, we had to admit
that perhaps we’d made a mistake in bringing home another cat.

“Call your mother,” Willie said.

And so I called her, told her what was going on, told her everything I could
think of about Dolly, asked her if she’d consider taking her in. She said she’d
think about it and get back to me.

A day later, she called me back.

“Pearl?” she said. From the sound of my father’s muffled laughter in the
background and the barely-contained chuckling from my mother, I knew it was not
going to be the outcome I had hoped for.

She cleared her throat.

“Upon reflection, your father and I must decline the opportunity to adopt your
cross-eyed, toothless, and possibly mentally retarded cat,” she deadpanned. “But we do
thank you for thinking of us and hope that you will call us with future
offers.”
Dagnabit.

Eventually there was an end to the war-like hostility between the cats. Tins of
tuna were shared, water drunk from the tap, paws extended in the name of peace;
and while it is true that Dolly Gee sometimes still childishly orders pizzas
delivered to the house in Liza Bean’s name, Liza Bean no longer contacts
Immigration with concerns regarding Dolly’s citizenship.

You have given me an idea - the first in two years, so thank you - of how to help integrate Sir Iron Jaws and Ms Hellcat into the otherwise fairly peaceful kitty household: tuna, and lots of it. I am weary of shuffling cats around so everyone can get his/her share of "run" time!

Love this piece, Pearl. Especially love how your mom politely turned down your offer of Dolly! Which actually wasn't very fair of her, seeing as she dumped a cat on YOU :)

I considered getting another kitten for Minette to fool around with but now maybe a puppy would be a better idea.The dynamics would be fun to watch .. this winter when I am once again the only living human on earth.love you